“Kennedy, you’ll go with the show tonight. I don’t care if Emperor tears this town up by the roots. If none of us is here, then we shall not be to blame for what happens. We didn’t tell them to lock him up in the blacksmith shop. You can get back after the lawyer has gotten him out. That will be time enough.”
“Where is the blacksmith shop?” questioned Phil.
“Know where the graveyard is?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just the other side of that,” said Kennedy. “Church on this side, blacksmith shop on the other. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering,” answered Phil, glancing up and finding the eyes of Mr. Sparling bent keenly upon him.
The lad rose hastily, went out, and climbing up to the seat of a long pole wagon, sat down to ponder over the situation. He remained there until a teamster came to hook to the wagon and drive it over to be loaded. Then Phil got down, standing about with hands in his pockets.
He was trying to make up his mind about something.
“Where do we show tomorrow?” he asked of an employee.
“Dobbsville, Ohio. We’ll be over the line before daybreak.”